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ormondPoems
. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .
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Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
Thirteen Thoughts on the Blue Guitar
. 1 In the corner stands My blue guitar, Mirrors my grimace. 2 I have played you So like dream was the dear song Where you playing me? 3 Your body makes mine Shudder as I imagine A woman in my arms. 4 At the top of your body Are keys unwound at the ready, Silver spirals of tunings. 5 My soul is near hollow But the blue guitar Is filling in the foundations. 6 What makes the blue guitar So shining in the mundane, All the world is makeshift. 7 My fingers wet with you, What water sounds like, As it kisses the earth. 8 Deep in the strings I summon my being, Always blue as sheer sky. 9 Blue guitar, silent, singing, My fingers ***** your neck, Never do you scream. 10 Once I heard music, The sweetest tabulations Of sorrows in rosewood. 11 My fingers ache on steel, These are your moved guts, Strings that I borrow. 12 At an open window, All the day obtuse, I hear birds in your vibrations, Untouched air of blue guitar. 13 I do not know anything, Music is lathed on an open fret, The heart is beating to a note of bliss, Hole set in the body braced by wood, Time cuts as it is sectioned, a staff fires, All the chords are listed in primes, Is the ear a window or is the eye, Blind in the choral songs we make, All things are ephemeral, wonderings, Variations we work as structure fades, As the blue guitar is touched, turning light. .
#music#guitar#existence#mystic#metaphysic
ormond
Written by
ormond
Irish
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
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